𝒮𝓃𝑜𝓌𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓁💜

There is something dangerous about the boredom of young maidens. That’s what Septa Marlow used to say. Rhaenyra never understood it properly. Not until now.

As you entered the Hall, hot in Daemon’s heels and with an expression of absolute contempt, she wondered what could possibly be your reason for coming. It was well known that you two weren’t friends. Viserys and Daemon made actual efforts to keep you apart, after a particularly nasty episode during your shared childhood.

Even at four years old, you were a nasty little thing. All the worst parts of Daemon and Rhea Royce, rolled into one. Rhaenyra had taken your favorite doll, arguing that she was a Princess and so deserved to have it. You had dug your little baby teeth into her calf so hard, she still wore the evidence of your wrath.

Back then, Rhaenyra had wailed for hours, as Viserys rubbed her back. Daemon had tried to get you to apologize, and you had just stuck out your little chin defiantly and refused to budge.

“It was mine.” You had said. Daemon, new to parenthood and not sure about how to handle you, had passed you to his wife. They had argued for hours, screaming for the whole Red Keep to hear. Daemon said your mother hadn’t raised you right. Rhea had screamed back that you had inherited his nasty nature.

If she had to choose a memory to define your personality, she would pick that afternoon. Demon child that you were, you had sat outside their room, playing with your doll. Rhaenyra never again forgot your triumphant smile.

About to become a married woman in less than two days, Rhaenyra finally understood what Septa Marlow meant about boredom of young girls. It was not achieved in an exemplary show of self reflection, no. Exempt as she was now from those silly lessons, Rhaenyra barely gave it more thought than she gave to her childhood bedtime stories.

It was from looking at you, that it started to make sense. Not because you were purity, respect, and shy subservience all incarnate, but because you weren’t. When Viserys had felt like a particularly invested parent, he used to compare you to her.

“Look at your cousin.” He would say. “Daemon tells me she is great at the harp. And she attends to the Sept daily.”

It had fueled her to be better. Because she hated you. She despised you. You had bitten her, like some sort of feral cat. You were not a Princess, but a mere Lady, yet seemed to show her in every area that you dedicated yourself to, according to Viserys.

Either Daemon had lied to him, or he had lied to her. Because did a proper lady show up to a wedding in a black and bronze dress cut in the dornish fashion? No, she did not. Yet as you walked towards the high table behind your father, Rhaenyra could not help but admire you. There was a confusing beauty in your exposed arms and collarbones, in the barest hint of a thigh that could be seen from the side when your gown moved.

It was a surprise to no one that Daemon crashed the wedding. After all, it was in his style to do so. No one bated an eyelash at it. Instead, all eyes were on you. Your gown was a statement if Rhaenyra ever saw one. House Royce stood proud today, not House Targaryen.

She wondered what Daemon thought about it. Not only were you wearing a risqué gown, but you were making a declaration. You were the daughter of Rhea Royce, and you wouldn’t be silenced. A brave stand, especially if the rumors were to be true.

Rhaenyra had heard about it, of course. Your mother’s passing and the alleged hand Daemon had had in it. You looked to be the only one looking for justice for Rhea Royce. Rhaenyra understood the feeling well. Too often, Targaryen men disregarded women in favor of advancing their ambitions.

Hadn’t Daemon done that to her in a ploy to get her off the race for the Iron Throne? Left her there, standing in the middle of a brothel, possibly to face her ruin? She betted he would have not been so happy, so easily pulled away, if it were you in that brothel. He would have burned it down and salted the earth to protect his little dragon.

You were oblivious to it, of course. But the only time that Daemon had been in agreement with Otto Hightower had been when Viserys shyly suggesting taking you as a wife. The row had been explosive, or so she had been told. One arguing that he was King and could do as he wished, Otto screaming it was giving Daemon too much power, and Daemon screaming that he was a perverted old man.

He had not seemed to care about the age difference so much in regard to her, though. Hypocrite. Yet love had a way, it appeared, of bending one’s moral compasses. Or making one grow one, in the case of Daemon.

She envied you for that, too. While Viserys had been willing to pawn her off to an old man or a child, Daemon had been insistent on finding you an age appropriate match. It was why you were still unmarried, despite being only two years younger than her.

As her father pulled a chair for you and Daemon to sit, Alicent made her own entrance, wearing a green gown. The same color Oldtown lit up in when Hightowers went to war.

“It seems she has outdone me.” You pouted, towards no one in particular. Your voice was different from what Rhaenyra remembered. Deeper and accented. You spoke in the clipped tones those in the Vale had, more proper for calling horses than noble speech. It reminded her of her mother.

“It’s my wedding, cousin.” Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at you. Why did you have to show off all the time? You came in here, looking more like a Royce than a Targaryen and had to flaunt it in everyone's faces. “Neither of you are supposed to outdone me.”

“Girls, girls.” Her father placated, placing a hand on her arm. Rhaenyra glared. You glared at her, right back. “You both look gorgeous tonight. No need to fight.”

“Ah, right. How could I possibly forget?” You whispered, right back. “It’s all about Princess Rhaenyra tonight. And every other night. With my father, with yours…” You trailed off, bitterly. Daemon smiled at Viserys, tense. No one wanted the reminder of what had happened between Rhaenyra and him.

The Velaryons, meanwhile, look between the attendants with polite masks. But Rhaenyra can tell Rhaenys is just dying to say something. She is not very fond of her and your comment has given her the ammunition she needed.

Alicent tries to interject, perhaps redirect the conversation, but Rhaenyra is not listening. All she can see are your defiant eyes.

If you wanted to play, it was fine by her. Rhenyra was more than willing to go a few rounds. Her ego was bruised enough that she doubted anything you could say would actually hurt her. But it didn’t mean she had to tolerate your disrespect laying down.

“Dearest cousin, I notice you growing a bit thick on the hips. Tell me, have you traded the dragon for the horse?”

Lyonel Strong nearly spits out his wine. You give him a sweet smile and then say something that freezes both Rhaenyra and Alicent.

“Oh, not so often as you do. I heard you went riding with your white cloak. Where is he? I thought he might appreciate my dress tonight.”

Rhaenyra sees red. It’s the only explanation because she is dreadfully rude. She throws you the half of a pomegranate, which you gracefully catch.

Viserys laughs awkwardly.

“I think we should begin the feast. The Lady Targaryen is looking famished.”

“Of course.” Daemon immediately caught on, following his brother’s lie. Rhaenyra wanted to slap him. Was it him, who had slipped that piece of gossip to you? “How considerate of my niece for noticing.”

“She has grown into a fine flower. Although not without thorns.” Viserys whispers to Daemon, much to Rhaenyra’s disgust. It’s evident that he is talking about you. Was it only the distance from court, what kept you from taking Alicent’s place? Would her father have married you if Daemon had offered you?

After all, you have all his worst qualities. After nearly tangling in the sheets of the man, Rhaenyra is not afraid to admit it.

As if taunting her, you flash her a feral little grin. Pearly teeth on full display, you bite savagely into the pomegranate. Rhaenyra’s calf throbs in sympathy.

Her eyes are fixated only on you. She ignores Laenor’s attempt at making conversation. There is a drop of red juice gathering on your lower lip. There is a sudden urge to rub her thumb over it. Of pinching the appendix with her teeth and biting until she draws blood, all rabid hound.

Cousins. You hate them, or you love them, there is no middle point. The drop slips lower, towards your chin. You have the manners of a peasant, smearing the juices all over your face. Messy girl.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask a very flustered Corlys Velaryon, licking your lips. Daemon tuts in disapproval, but does nothing. Rhaenys looks on the verge of slapping you, but most men in the hall seem to enjoy the display. Even righteous Criston Cole looks your way for a second.

A droplet of juice travels down, down, down, between your collarbones and towards the valley of your tits. She thinks of biting down the soft hollow of your throat and not letting go until you were sweet. “Cousin, please.” Pretty eyes filled with tears, mouth agape. She can see it so clearly… Blood on your throat, all over that pretty little dornish number… Rhaenyra blinks. A trick of the light, surely. For a second, it looked like you actually were covered in blood.

“Daughter.” Daemon says, and tenderly cleans your lips with a napkin. His hands linger a little too long on your throat. Rhaenyra doesn’t know whether he wants to strangle you or is genuinely trying to clean you up and preventing yourself from making a spectacle. She understands both urges. “Please. Why don’t you go greet your other cousins?”

You give him a sultry look, from beneath your lashes. Another pout.

“Oh, Daddy…” You purr, and it’s clearly not directed at him, but to the man your eyes are fixated on. Corlys Velaryon, yet again shifting uncomfortably on his seat. Daemon clenches his fist. Her father clears her throat and gives Rhaenyra a pointed look. Get her out here, his eyes seem to say. Before Daemon punches your future father-in-law and ruins your wedding. “You are no fun.”

“Cousin.” Rhaenyra says, all high and airy. In truth, she too wants these men to stop looking at you. You are hers. Disrespectful fools, can’t they see you already claimed her? “Care for a dance?”

“Of course, Princess. Thought you never ask.” And you get up, insolent little brat that you are, and take her hand. Was it all a ploy? Were you flirting with Corlys Velaryon only to get her alone?

Insufferable brat, that you are. Of course you were.

She wonders, sometimes, what is it, that you want. You don’t care for her. You are as much of a spoiled princess as she is, yet you refuse to see it. Embracing the Royce side of your heritage favored your delusions of normalcy. Learning to hawk and hunt, riding as well as any man would. You have a dragon, of course, but it wears the Royce’s sigil proudly on its neck, and not one of the Targaryen collars.

What is it that you want? Rebel against Daemon? You resent him, surely. For leaving when you were a mere girl, and showing up to the Vale when you are a woman grown, expecting you to bend to his will. Rhaenyra can understand that. She, too, has been babied by Targaryen men. Not even Daemon, despite his lust, sees her as a woman.

It must make for an interesting dynamic. You are headstrong. So it’s Daemon. In your eyes, he abandoned you and your mother to go fight his little war and then tried to get his marriage annulled, making you a bastard, all in a ploy to bed his niece and take the throne. Said niece is only two years your senior and childhood nemesis.

She has heard you are soon to be married, but not yet to whom. Her father leans towards marrying you to Harwin Strong, son of his Hand. A way to keep Daemon under control. The match is slightly more age appropriate. They had yet to decide the problems of inheritance, though.

Rhaenyra doubts Harwin will want you, a dark, bad behaved thing who is always on edge. She has caught him looking at her more than a few times, and you are nothing alike. Oil and water. Well, more like silver and bronze.

As you walk together towards the makeshift dance floor, hand in hand, the crowd parts for you. Rhaenyra lifts her head, proudly. The music that is playing is fit for a couple’s dance, no doubt playing in hopes of luring her and Laenor to dance.

It will not be happening today, it seems. Because Rhaenyra places you in the line along with the women, taking her place among the men. Your hands feel warm in Rhaenyra’s hands, and she smiles. A true Targaryen always runs hot.

You smile back. Rhaenyra circles you, almost predatory. She drinks you in. The untamed spirit. The bewitching eyes. The bristles of teenage rebellion you have yet to shed.

The best parts of Daemon. What had pulled her in. Yet, not the same. Not at all.

You circle back, eyes narrowed. At the high table, your fathers watch. Both of them are pleased by what seems to be the end of the hostilities. They have no idea how you vex Rhaenyra, with those enchanting eyes of yours. How much she wants to find out what's inside that pretty skull, what makes you tick.

Then, the unexpected. As Rhaenyra extends her hand, about to make you twirl, you twirl her instead. Taking the lead from her. You twirl her, and as she comes out of it, it turns into a battle for dominance again. Rhaenyra starts doing the figures for the male partner a little more aggressively, clapping near your ear and forcing you to move to her will.

You struggle, at first. Then you give in. Sweet little cousin that you are, submitting to your Princess and future Queen. Yet, your smile is as ferocious as ever, shiny teeth just begging to sink into her and pull. Feral. As always.

The dance finishes with the two of you standing close, so close Rhaenyra can count every one of your lashes. Your chest rises and falls, lifting your tits tantalizingly. She thinks of licking the sweat from the valley between them, of biting the soft flesh. Of your beautiful little gasps.

Would your eyes light up in bed the same way hers do? After all, Viserys and Daemon are brothers. Both of you share some subtle similarities. Rhaenyra wonders if laying you down on her bed might be like having sex with her reflection. A distorted one, perhaps.

You stand in black, while she does it in white.

“We shouldn't.” Your voice breaks the spell. Despite your eyes constantly darting towards her lips, which Rhaenyra cannot help but lick, you seem spooked. She brushes a hand against your cheek, softly. Tilting your head just so to kiss you. “This is wrong.” You say, expression delightfully tortured. No matter your protests, you close your eyes, leaning into her.

She is so close to breaking you.

“You are a Targaryen.” It's the wrong thing to say. You pull away from her touch, frowning.

“And you are about to get married.”

“Aegon the Conqueror had two wives.” Rhaenyra presses. She is willing if it means having you. If your ancestor married sisters, why can't Laenor marry cousins?

“Does Laenor look to you like a man who could handle a wife, much less two?” You smile, showing her your canines in a bitter gesture. “My father seduces whores with that same line. Get your own.”

Joyfully, you go, right into Ser Harwin's arms. You start dancing with him. You don't look as good as you did when dancing with her. Your blush and your little giggles seem to put the man under a trance. Rhaenyra scowls. So much for wanting her. Good gods, were his affections so fickle? Were yours?

Wanting entertainment for the night, she glances at Daemon. Ugh. Dancing with that girl, Laena. Men. Always led by their cocks.

She doesn't want Daemon. She is not sure what she wants, in truth. Does she want you because you are so much like him? Or did she want him because he reminded her of you?

What was first, the dragon or the egg?

Rhaenyra is the one with fickle affections, much to her horror. As she stands in the middle of the dance floor, she feels adrift at the realization she has a type. Targaryens. Rhaenyra likes you, defiant little grins and all. But what really warms her blood is the thought of you and her being similar.

Is that what Daemon felt when looking at her? This deep connection, the urge to grab you and pull you away from Ser Harwin's arms, whose hands are straying lower and lower down your back. And you are letting him. You are letting him touch you, and sure, he is handsome. But you are a Princess, even if not in title. You are hers, as much Daemon is Viserys's.

Rhaenyra knows you want her. How could you not, when you looked at her with those eyes? As your own face crept closer and closer, it was clear Rhaenyra was not the only one who wanted that kiss. You had played along.

Now she is dancing with Laenor, making a pretty show. Your eyes track her every movement, despite being in the arms of your soon-to-be fiancé.

Everything is as it is supposed to be. You grin at Harwin, but Rhaenyra knows it lacks your usual strength. You are not at ease with the man and it shows. Oh, what wouldn't she do to pluck you from his arms and dance with you again.

Perhaps there is a way. Rhaenyra hides her smirk, passing it off as a smile to Laenor. As soon as the dance ends, she rushes to your side.

“Dearest cousin, you must stay with us for some weeks.” She says, interrupting you and Harwin. The man looks vaguely amused, a flicker of interest in his dark eyes. “The wedding has me thinking about our mothers, and how soon such a joyous occasion might come for you too.”

“Hm.” You answer, raising your eyebrows. The mention of your mother is a low thing to do, but it's the truth. Look at you, a maiden ripe for the taking. Marriage alliances, enviable prospects, yet motherless.

“I was thinking, as my marriage progresses, I could hope to be of guidance, just as Queen Alicent has been for me.”

“Guidance?” You ask, frowning. Maybe Rhaenyra had laid it a bit thick. She must redirect, less you spook again.

“There is much to be learned about marriage, of course. And it's my duty as the eldest cousin to prepare you for it.”

Ser Harwin's eyebrows raise. You give her your signature feral little grin. She wonders what those teeth will feel like again on her skin. Hesitantly, you place your arm on hers and allow her to pull you off the dance floor.

THE GYM ECHOED WITH MUSIC so loud it rattled the bleachers.

"Five, six, seven, eight!" The USC cheer team hit every count together, baskets flying into the air while flyers twisted before landing perfectly. "Again!" the coach yelled. The music restarted. Outside the gym, the women's basketball team had just wrapped up weights.

"Coach wants us back in twenty," one of JuJu's teammates groaned. JuJu Watkins wiped the sweat from her forehead with the bottom of her shirt before grabbing her water bottle. "I'm finna go grab my hoodie," she muttered.

Nobody paid much attention as she wandered down the hallway. She'd taken this route a thousand times. Past the training room. Past the film room. Past...the cheer gym. The doors were cracked open. Music blasted through the hallway. JuJu slowed for a second. "Damn... they loud as hell." She peeked inside out of pure curiosity. She wasn't trying to stare.

She just—Her heart stopped. Because standing in the center of the floor...was you.

Hair pulled into a high ponytail. USC practice uniform. White cheer shoes. Confident. Smiling. Laughing. Like the last two years had never happened. JuJu blinked. "No fucking way..." You hadn't seen her yet. You were spotting one of your teammates before stepping back. "Again!" you called. Your voice. God.

She still remembered your voice. She remembered hearing it whisper, I love you. She remembered hearing it scream, Get the fuck out. She remembered every damn word. One of the girls hit a tumbling pass. You clapped. "That was clean!" JuJu couldn't move. One of the assistant coaches noticed her. "Oh! Hey JuJu." The music stopped. Everybody turned. Including you.

Your eyes landed on hers. Everything froze. The gym suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Too hot. Neither of you spoke. Your smile disappeared almost instantly. JuJu's jaw tightened. One of your teammates looked between you two. "You know her?" You answered first. "...Used to."

That hurt more than it should've. Used to. Not yeah. Not that's JuJu. Just...used to. JuJu finally found her voice. "Didn't know you went here." You shrugged. "Transferred."

"When?” "Beginning of the semester." She laughed once. "Damn." "You didn't notice?"

"You think I spend my time watching cheer practice?" A couple girls exchanged looks. You crossed your arms. "I figured basketball players knew what happened around campus." "Oh, don't start." "I'm not starting shit." "You literally are." Coach whistled. "Okay... let's relax." Nobody listened. JuJu stepped inside. "So you transferred and didn't tell me?" You stared at her. "...Why the fuck would I?" Silence. That one landed. Hard. JuJu looked away for a second. "...Right." Because...you weren't together anymore. You hadn't been for almost two years.

Back then...you two had been inseparable. Everybody knew it. The basketball star. The cheer captain. Campus's favorite couple. JuJu was loud. Competitive. Cocky. You balanced her out. You were patient. Soft. Until...life got complicated. Basketball demanded more. Travel. Media. NIL. Pressure.

Then came arguments. Missed dates. Unread texts. Jealousy. Miscommunication. Eventually...it became impossible. "I can't keep begging you to make time for me." "I'M TRYING!" "It doesn't feel like it!" "So now basketball's my fault?" "I didn't fucking say that!" "You don't have to!" "You know what? Maybe we're just done." Silence. JuJu waited. Expected you to take it back. Instead. "...Maybe." That single word ended everything.

Present day. Coach clapped. "Break's over!" The team scattered. You picked up your water bottle. Never breaking eye contact with JuJu. "Excuse me." You walked past her. Your shoulder brushed hers. Neither of you apologized. JuJu watched you leave. "...Shit."

"You good?"

Her Kiki walked over. JuJu blinked. "Huh?" "You've been staring at the hallway for like.." She checked an imaginary watch. "five business days." JuJu sighed. "That was my ex." Kiki's eyes nearly popped out.

"THAT was your ex?" "Yeah." "Bro." "What?" "I see why you were staring." JuJu rolled her eyes. "Shut up." "I'm serious." "I said shut up. "Kiki smirked. "You still love her?” JuJu answered way too fast. "No." "You're a terrible liar." JuJu threw her towel at her. "Man, fuck you." Kiki laughed all the way down the hallway.

you and billie had a great relationship, until fame hit her like a brick wall. one day, things seemed like they were normal. date nights, relaxing times together at home, everything was perfect. the next, her life seemed to move at a speed neither of you could keep up with.

tour schedules stretched across continents. label meetings filled every free afternoon. interviews, photoshoots, rehearsals, flights, appearances… there was always somewhere she needed to be and something she needed to do. it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. success was something the two of you had dreamed about for years, and now that it was finally happening, neither of you knew how to complain about it without feeling guilty.

you understood her life. after all, you’d been a part of it for so long. long before the sold-out arenas and screaming crowds, before the awards and magazine covers, you’d been her best friend. falling in love with billie had never felt like a dramatic turning point. if anything, it felt inevitable, like the natural next chapter of a story that had already been unfolding for years. 

but understanding why something was happening didn’t make it hurt any less. 

missed calls became missed conversations. arguments lingered unresolved because one of you always had somewhere else to be. texts that used to get answered within seconds suddenly sat unopened for hours, sometimes days. eventually, you found yourself asking for attention that billie genuinely wanted to give you, but couldn’t seem to find the time for anymore.

the worst part was that neither of you stopped loving each other. you were simply exhausted. so after months of trying to force things to work around impossible schedules and growing frustrations, you both made the decision to end the relationship.

there wasn’t a dramatic fight. no screaming. no betrayal. just two people sitting across from each other and admitting that maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. you promised you’d stay friends. for a while, you even managed it.

you attended shows when you could. after-parties. birthdays. award ceremonies. whenever your paths crossed, you hugged, smiled, and slipped back into old conversations with an ease that made everything feel normal again. until it didn’t.

because every time you saw billie, it felt like her attention was already somewhere else. she was focused on improving the next show, planning the next project, talking with friends she’d met on tour. sometimes you’d catch her flirting with one of her openers and feel an ugly twist of jealousy settle in your stomach.

you hated feeling that way. hated what it turned you into. so little by little, the distance between you grew. and before either of you realized it, months had passed.

billie lay across the hotel suite bed after another show, staring at the ceiling while the city lights filtered through the curtains. the room was quiet in a way hotel rooms always were. not peaceful. just empty.

her body ached from performing, but sleep felt impossible. every time she closed her eyes, she thought about you. she missed your laugh more than anything. the loud, ridiculous laugh that always made her laugh too.

she missed your smile. your jokes that would make you giggle like teenagers. the way you’d skip ahead of her during date nights only to turn around and walk backward in the middle of the sidewalk because you couldn’t tell a story without seeing her reaction. she missed the flowers you’d bring home for absolutely no reason.

most of all, she missed moments like this. coming back after a show and finding you already curled up in bed waiting for her. your arms wrapping around her waist. the familiar weight of your head against her chest. sleepy kisses pressed wherever you could reach before exhaustion finally pulled you under.

god, she missed you. before she could stop herself, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. your contact was still there. same photo. same conversation. same name. billie stared at it for nearly ten minutes.

her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting the same sentence over and over until frustration made her groan and toss her head back against the pillows.

finally, she typed:

hey.

12:20am

i know this is probably the last thing you want to see. but i’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.

12:21 am

another pause.

i miss you. i miss us. i think about you all the time.

12:27 am

i know we broke up for a reason, and i’m not trying to disrespect that. i just… idk.

12:31 am

i needed you to know that i still love you. i just think we made a mistake. i need you.

12:36 am

she hit send. then waited. hours passed. nothing. a day. nothing. a week. nothing. eventually, weeks turned into months. still nothing.

billie cried over it more times than she’d ever admit. but she respected what she believed was your answer. silence. she convinced herself you had seen the messages and chosen not to respond. so she left you alone.

what she didn’t know was that you felt exactly the same. your life had simply changed. a few weeks after the breakup, you landed a new internship. the company provided work phones, and eventually your old number was replaced with a new one. a new job. a new number. a new chapter.

and because of that, every single message billie had sent disappeared into the void. you never received them. you never knew she spent months crying over you. she wanted another chance with you.

she sat awake at three in the morning rereading old conversations and wishing she’d handled things differently. you assumed she had moved on. you thought her career had simply become more important.

it was the exact reason your relationship had ended in the first place. so eventually, you moved forward too. because what else were you supposed to do?

a year and a half later, you sat in one of your favorite coffee shops in los angeles.

ironically, it had always been one of billie’s favorites too. a frequent lunch date location. your laptop sat open in front of you while you worked at one of the tall side booths along the wall. the familiar chime above the entrance rang.

you glanced up, and froze. billie. black gym shorts. oversized white graphic tee. backward green dodgers cap. jordan 4s. mismatched socks. you’d recognize her anywhere. for a moment, neither of you moved. then she smiled, small and tentative.

“hi.” you smiled back. “hey.” she walked to the counter and ordered, her usual. ‘a medium iced vanilla oat milk latte’ you gathered as you read her lips.

while she waited, she glanced toward seat opposite of you at your table. “mind if i sit?” she asked, gently, not wanting to impose. you closed your laptop. “not at all.” she smiled and sat down. for a few minutes, conversation came surprisingly easy.

how you were. your friends. billie’s family, including shark. life. the tour. anything except the thing sitting between the two of you.

“you look good,” billie said softly. “thank you, you do too, bil.” something flickered across her face. then she looked down at the table. “you know,” she cleared her throat. “i texted you. was kinda sad you didn’t respond.” she played it off with a nervous snicker and hand thrown on the table. your stomach dropped, but you laughed it off. “no, you didn’t.” 

billie’s eyebrows furrowed. “yeah.” she looked confused, still smiling. “i did.” you stared. “when?”

“like six months after we broke up. i was on the last leg of tour and it was late. thought you just ignored me, to be honest.” your smile vanished. suddenly your mind was racing. six months after the breakup. the internship. the new phone. the number change. your eyes widened.

“billie…” her expression slowly changed. “i got a new number.” silence. “what?” billie’s voice came out, quiet and unbelieving.

“i got a new number around that time. i got that internship i had told you about months before then.” your throat tightened. “i never got any texts from you.” the color drained from billie’s face. “you didn’t?”

you shook your head. “no.” for a moment neither of you spoke. because suddenly every missed opportunity. every assumption. every day spent healing. every attempt to move on. all came crashing down at once. a phone buzzed and without missing a beat, billie glanced down.

incoming call: nat ♥️

you recognized the name instantly. billie’s opener, now boyfriend. you had suspected it from the obvious flirting you’d witnessed backstage in the green room. her best friend’s brother. your chest ached, but you covered it with a grin anyway. “if you have to take that it’s okay. i understand.” 

billie swallowed hard, containing what composure she had left after the bomb that was dropped between the two of you. you nodded, trying not to show any signs of the emotions brewing inside you. “i’m happy for you.” her eyes shimmered with tears, slightly pink. for a second, she looked away. and you couldn’t tell if it was guilt, regret, or grief. maybe all three.

“it was really good seeing you.” her voice cracked. “you too.” you echoed. billie stood and walked to the front counter, her tattooed hand grabbed her slightly-watered down iced latte from the front counter. looked at you one last time and smiled. the same smile you’d fallen in love with years ago.

“see you around, babe.” you both knew she wouldn’t. neither of you exchanged numbers. neither of you asked. some doors only hurt more when you try to reopen them.

billie turned and walked out of the café. the bell above the café door chimed softly as she stepped outside. you watched her disappear into the afternoon crowd. and for a long time after she was gone, you couldn't stop staring at the door. for the first time in a long time, the wound you’d spent years healing felt fresh again.

billie made it halfway into her house before she fell apart. her vision blurred. she ran to her room and gently sat on her bed, one hand covering her mouth as a broken sound escaped her chest.

"fuck." the word came out strangled. another breath. another. but it didn't help. because all she could think about was the look on your face when you'd told her you never got the messages. all those months. all that time. you hadn't ignored her. you hadn't rejected her. you hadn't decided you were better off without her.

you never knew.

billie hands slid down her face smearing the mascara she had put on that morning. tears streamed down her face unchecked. she thought about that night in the hotel room. the way her hands had shaken while she typed. the way she'd stared at her phone for weeks afterward waiting for an answer that never came.

she remembered crying herself to sleep, believing so many falsehoods as faith. that you had moved on. that you didn't want her anymore. god. you never even saw the messages. a laugh escaped her through the tears. except it wasn't really a laugh. it sounded more like grief. because suddenly every memory hurt. every moment she'd spent missing you. every relationship she'd thrown herself into trying to move forward.

times she'd told herself that things happened for a reason. all of it. wasted. not because the two of you had failed. not because you didn't love each other enough. because of a phone number. a fucking phone number. billie buried her face in her hands.

for a few minutes, she let herself mourn. not you. she'd been mourning you for years. she mourned the future she'd lost. the one where you would’ve answered. where she picked up the phone and heard your voice, the two of you would have met for coffee six months after the breakup instead of a year and a half later.

maybe it would’ve worked it out. she’d have learned how to balance fame and love. she’d come home to you. that version of her life had died before it ever got the chance to exist. now she was standing at its funeral.

eventually, the tears slowed. her breathing steadied. the ache remained. it probably always would. billie wiped her face with the hem of her shirt and looked down at her phone. three missed calls. all from nat. she stared at the screen for a long moment. then pressed call. it rang twice.

"hey, baby." nat's voice came through the speaker, warm and familiar. "everything okay?"

billie closed her eyes. for a second, she almost broke again. but then she pictured you sitting in that coffee shop. healed. moving forward. living a life that no longer had room for the two of you. she mumbled, “yeah i’m fine.” billie held back her sniffles so she didn’t spiral into a sob. she quickly wrapped up the conversation and hung up, wanting to be alone in her thoughts.

the silence carried on around her as if nothing had happened. like she hadn't just discovered that the greatest heartbreak of her life had been a misunderstanding, right when she had just healed from the pain and loss; after she buried the last remaining idea of what could have been. with one final thought towards you, billie had a realization, clear in her mind.

you would always be the one that got away.

taglist:

The constant hum of the fluorescent lights on the 14th floor was the soundtrack to their cold war.

To the entire marketing department, you two were like oil and water. An unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object. If Billie Eilish proposed a minimalist, analytical campaign, you presented a maximalist, emotion-driven proposal.

If Billie tried to arrive five minutes early to a meeting, you were already seated, coffee in hand, wearing a smug smile that you knew perfectly well roused her.

You detested each other. Or so you told your colleagues in HR when they asked why the atmosphere felt so tense whenever you shared a room.

The reality was much darker, wetter, and more exhausting.

You couldn't concentrate. You stared at your computer screen, but your eyes inevitably drifted to the glass office in the background. Billie sat with the sleeves of her white dress shirt rolled up to her forearms.

Her tie was slightly loose, and her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She had that damn superior expression as she read a report.

She was a damn nuisance. A beautiful nuisance, tall, with broad shoulders and a presence that filled the room. The way she walked down the hall like she owned the place, and the way she looked at you.

God, the way she looked at you.

Right then, as if sensing the weight of your thoughts, Billie looked up. Her icy-blue eyes locked onto yours through the glass.

She didn't blink. Instead, she leaned back in her leather chair, her gaze slowly tracing the silhouette of your body trapped in that black pencil skirt and the silk blouse that accentuated your cleavage.

You shifted in your chair, feeling an instant jolt of heat between your legs. Damn it.

Ten minutes later, you were in the copy room, furiously organizing some files, trying to get her damn image out of your head. The sound of the door closing behind you sent shivers down the spine. You knew who it was before you even turned around.

“Tech problems, sweetheart?” Billie’s voice was a low, husky murmur, laced with that teasing tone you hated so much… the one that made your underwear wet.

You turned, crossing your arms over your chest. “Nothing I can’t handle, O’Connell. Though I’m guessing you’re here to check if you did your job properly, since the metrics report you sent this morning had three formatting errors.”

Billie approached slowly. Each step seemed to deplete the oxygen in the room.

She stopped just inches from you, close enough for you to catch a whiff of her perfume: a blend of sandalwood, sweet tobacco, and something uniquely hers, pure musk.

She leaned against the photocopier table, effectively trapping you between her body and the machine. Her eyes immediately dropped to your lips.

She traced them with her gaze, lingering on the way you unconsciously moistened them. Then, her gaze lower still, brazenly settling on the curve of your hips, widened by the tension of your skirt.

"Oh, really?" She murmured, leaning forward slightly. Her voice dropped an octave. "How curious that you notice so many details about me. I, on the other hand, can only notice how you bite your lip every time I disagree with you in meetings. Do I frustrate you that much, my love?"

"You're an egomaniac," you spat, though your breathing had already become erratic. Your eyes shifted for a second to the noticeable bulge subtly visible in the front of her tailored trousers.

Billie noticed your direction and a smug smile curved her lips.

"Look me in the eyes when you insult me," she taunted, reaching out to trace the edge of your jaw with a single finger. Her touch burned. "Keep pretending you hate me. We both love it."

She turned and left the copy room, leaving you trembling, your heart pounding in your throat, and an unbearable dampness between your thighs.

(21:30 PM)

The 14th floor was completely deserted. The main lights had automatically turned off at nine, leaving only the desk lamps in the cubicles and the New York City lights filtering through the enormous windows.

It was a stupid competition. Neither of them wanted to leave first. Leaving the office meant admitting defeat, accepting that the other was working harder for the new client presentation the next day.

Your eyes burned. You stretched in your chair, letting out a frustrated groan as you closed your laptop. Enough was enough.

You stood up, straightening your skirt, and walked toward Billie's office to tell her to go to hell, that you would win tomorrow anyway.

The door was ajar. Pushing it open, you saw Billie standing by the window, a glass of whiskey in her hand.

She had taken off her jacket. And the first two buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing the base of her neck and a glimpse of pale skin.

“Giving up that easily?” Billie asked without turning around, her reflection shimmering in the glass that faced the city.

“Not at all. But unlike you, I actually have a life to go back to,” you lied, stepping inside and slamming the door behind you.

The click of the latch engaging carried a dangerous purpose.

Billie turned slowly. She placed the glass on the fine wood desk and walked toward you. The polite distance of the day was gone.

There was a heaviness in the air, an accumulation of months of heavy glances, double entendres, and nighttime fantasies that had finally reached their boiling point.

“A life?” Billie stopped a step away from you. Her blue eyes were dark, her pupils so dilated they were almost colorless. “I don’t think so. I think you stayed because you can't stand the thought of being alone in your bed, thinking about what I'd do to you if I had you pinned against this desk.”

The insult, the stark truth of her words, snapped you out of it. You shoved her in the chest with both hands.

"Shut up! You're literally my biggest headache. Fuck off. I hate the way you look at me, I hate the way you talk in meetings, and I hate that you think you have any kind of control over me..."

Billie didn't even flinch at your shove. Instead, she grabbed both your wrists with one hand, holding them with an iron grip, and pushed you back until your back hit the heavy wooden door of her office.

Your bodies collided. The heat radiating from her was scorching.

You could feel the unmistakable hardness of her anatomy pressing directly against your pelvis, separated only by the layers of her tailored suit and your skirt. You realized, with a lurch in your heart, that Billie was already completely hard.

"Liar," Billie whispered, her face just inches from yours. Her breath tasted of whiskey and mint. "You're soaking wet for me right now. I can smell it from here."

You squirmed in her grip, but the movement only made you rub your intimacy against her erection.

A muffled moan escaped your lips, completely betraying you. Billie let out a low, husky laugh that sent shivers down your spine.

She raised your clasped hands above your head, pinning them against the door. With her free hand, she took your chin, forcing you to look at her.

Her eyes shone with a predatory intensity, but also with a possessiveness that melted you from the inside out. You knew you were needy, dying for every ounce of her attention, and she knew it perfectly well.

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend to be,” Billie mocked, her lips brushing against yours, not quite kissing you, torturing you. “You love it when I treat you badly in front of the executives, don’t you? It turns you on so much to think about what this ‘egomaniac’ can do to you.”

“Billie… please,” you begged, rocking your hips against her. Pride didn’t matter anymore. You wanted her to break this damn tension that had been driving you crazy for months.

“Why are you begging, baby?” Billie lowered her hand from your chin to your neck, squeezing it lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “We’re supposed to hate each other, remember?”

“Fuck that,” you whimpered, tilting your head back. “Touch me. Please, Billie, fuck me. I can’t take it anymore.”

The plea in your voice seemed to sever Billie’s last remaining thread of control. She released your wrists only to close the distance in a violent, hungry kiss.

Her lips crashed against yours with a savage urgency. Her tongue invaded your mouth, claiming you, devouring you as you moaned directly into her throat, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling it closer.

Billie's hands slid down to the thighs of your skirt, roughly pulling the fabric up above your hips, tearing your nylon stockings in the process.

She didn't care. Her large, warm fingers sought the edge of your panties.

He pulled you aside and plunged directly into your intimacy.

You let out a muffled gasp against his lips. You were completely soaked, your juices dripping from your fingers as Billie thrust two of them deep inside you without warning.

"Damn, you're so fucking ready," Billie growled, pulling her fingers out to lick them right in front of your eyes, her gaze locked on you. "Come here."

She lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. You instinctively wrapped your legs around her waist as she carried you to her massive wooden desk. She swatted aside a stack of folders and his laptop, which crashed to the floor with a clatter that made you shudder.

"Billie... someone might hear... security comes by at ten," you gasped, gripped by panic and excitement at the risk of being caught.

"Let them hear." “Let them watch if they want,” Billie said, her eyes burning with desire. She sat you on the edge of the desk, spreading your legs wide.

Your eyes widened as you watched her unbuckle her leather belt and unzip her pants.

Her member sprang free, thick, heavy, and completely veiny, glistening with precum in the dim office light.

It was an impressive piece of meat that made you swallow hard.

Before you could process it, Billie grabbed your hair tightly but gently, pulling you down.

“Put that mouth to work, baby. Show me how much you hate me,” she ordered, a mocking smile on her face.

You didn’t hesitate. You slid off the desk until you were on your knees in front of her.

Your trembling hands cupped the base of his cock, feeling the latent heat emanating from it. You opened your mouth and licked it from base to tip, hearing the first real, rough moan escape Billie's throat.

You took the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking hard.

Billie tightened her grip on your hair and thrust her hips forward, gripping the back of your neck. She began to fuck your mouth, dictating a merciless rhythm.

Your throat closed, your eyes watered from the depth of her grip, but the sound of his flesh hitting your lips and the smell of his arousal drove you wild.

"That's it, take it all," Billie cursed, her ragged breathing echoing off the high office ceiling. "Damn, you're so good at sucking cock. Is that how you get your promotions?"

She groaned loudly as you used your hands to massage his balls while your mouth continued working his length.

Billie yanked your hair back, forcing you to release her with a wet sound. Strands of saliva and precum connected his member to your glistening lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, looking at him with pure need and rage.

"Enough," Billie said, her voice cracking. "If you keep this up, I'm going to come in your throat and I'm not even finished with you yet."

She yanked you to your feet and pushed you back onto the desk.

She dragged you to the edge, lifting your legs and resting them on her shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, open and vulnerable under the harsh light of the desk lamp.

Billie didn't go straight for penetration. She leaned down and buried her face directly in your exposed pussy.

The impact of her hot, expert tongue against your clit made you arch your back, screaming his name.

Billie licked you with long, firm strokes, using her fingers to open you wider, devouring you like it was his last supper.

“You eat me so well, I hate you so much,” you sobbed, burying your hands in her hair, pushing her face harder against your wetness.

You hated how much you needed her, hated that she knew exactly how to drive you crazy. “Fuck, Billie… bite it, please, you’re going to drive me wild.”

The contrast between her harsh words and the fucking devoted way she was licking you was completely disarming you. You were trembling, on the verge of collapse.

“Billie! I’m going to… I’m going to come, I can’t take it anymore!” you shrieked, covering your mouth with your forearm, remembering the risk of the night guard being nearby.

Billie lifted her head, your inner thighs covered in your own fluids and her saliva.

She smiled, her gaze pure malice and adoration.

“Don’t come yet, baby. I want you to feel this.”

She positioned herself. The tip of her thick member grazed your swollen, throbbing vaginal lips.

Billie stared into your eyes, stopping time.

"You wanted my cock so bad, huh?" she whispered, and with a slow, massive, and devastating thrust, she sank deep inside you.

The scream that escaped your throat was smothered by Billie's hand, which quickly covered your mouth.

Your eyes widened as the walls of your cunt stretched to their limit to accommodate her thickness.

She was so fucking big, so hot inside you, that you felt like she was splitting you in two in the best possible way.

"Fuck, you're so big, Billie..." you moaned against her palm, tears of pleasure streaming down your face as you tried to take in her size. You could feel every vein throbbing against your inner walls. "You're going to break me... God, please..."

"Shh... quiet, baby. Remember, we're in the office," Billie teased in your ear, but her body trembled from the effort of not losing control. The tightness of your insides was driving her wild. "Damn, you're so tight. I feel like you're going to squeeze me."

She started to move. At first, with slow, tortuous thrusts, burying herself deep inside you and pulling out almost completely before pushing in again.

Each time her pelvis collided with yours, the wet sound of fluids mingling echoed in the quiet office.

You tightened your legs around his shoulders, opening yourself completely and absorbing the brutal rhythm she was beginning to impose.

"Yeah, I'll take you well..." you replied, digging your nails into his biceps, challenging his gaze. "Fuck me harder, please."

"You look so good, baby," Billie growled, losing her mocking facade completely. The submission, the need, and the sudden boldness you displayed were igniting her to dangerous levels.

She changed her angle. She gripped your hips with her large hands, leaving red marks on your skin that you'd have to hide tomorrow, and began thrusting into you with brutal force.

The desk moved slightly with each impact. The remaining papers rattled. You could hear distant footsteps in the hallway, the squeak of the janitor's cleaning cart a few aisles away, but the danger only made your cunt clench tighter around his cock.

“Fuck, yes, contract that fucking pussy for me,” Billie demanded, picking up the pace. Her thrusts were relentless, hitting your cervix with a precision that made you see stars. “Yeah, take me so good, my pretty girl.”

You were completely out of it. Pleasure was a fire that consumed your entire body.

Billie quickly changed your position, turning you so that you were lying face down, stretched out on the desk. Your ass was raised, offering you completely to her.

Billie positioned herself behind you, grabbing your hair to keep your head up as you stared at your own blurry reflection in the office window. You could see Billie’s silhouette behind you, thrusting into you mercilessly, her shirt undone and her face focused on pure animal pleasure.

“Look at me,” Billie ordered, giving you a firm slap on your left buttock that left a pink mark. “Look how I'm fucking you on my desk. Tomorrow you're going to sit in that meeting and you're going to remember how my cock feels inside you every time you talk to me.”

"Yes! So good! Fuck Billie, I'm gonna cum!" you screamed, unable to control the volume. The orgasm hit you like a giant wave. Your walls began to spasm violently, sucking on his member with incredible force.

Your body's climax was the trigger for her. Billie let out a hoarse roar, burying herself so deep inside you that you felt her pelvic bone against your buttocks.

"I'm coming with you, baby. I'm going to cum inside you, do you want my babies?" She warned in a husky voice, with no intention of pulling out.

She pressed her body against your back and thrust as far as she could as her own release hit her.

You felt the intense throbbing of her member inside you as she released jet after jet of the hot semen directly into the depths of your womb.

The warmth of the liquid filling you completely made you let out a final moan of pure exhaustion and pleasure.

When the last throbs ceased, Billie slowly withdrew, letting out a heavy sigh that hit the back of your neck.

You collapsed slightly onto the wood, trembling, immediately feeling his heat begin to overflow and trickle down your thighs.

You made a move to reach for your torn panties on the floor, but Billie gently stopped you, placing a hand on your hip.

"Try not to throw it all away, baby," she murmured huskily, stroking the skin she had just assaulted. She leaned over you, her tone softening in a way that quickened your pulse for very different reasons. "I'll take care of all that tomorrow. Come here, I'll take you home…”

You turned slowly on the desk, looking at her through your damp eyelashes, your heart pounding at the drastic change in her tone. From merciless mockery to utter tenderness.

"Really?" you asked in a whisper, almost incredulous.

Billie let out a small laugh, a genuine, warm one, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'm better than a gentleman, sweetheart," she replied smugly, but her eyes overflowed with pure adoration.

She leaned in and captured your lips again. It wasn't the hungry kiss from before, but a deep, fiery one.

An incredibly intimate moment, sealing the promise that the distance between you had been broken forever.

The Next Day (9:00 AM)

The morning sun streamed brightly through the windows of the 14th floor. Freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the murmur of the staff was palpable.

You were sitting at the large conference table, a folder in your hands.

You were having a little trouble maintaining your posture; you felt a slight ache between your thighs, and every time you shifted, you could feel the subtle, damp reminder of what Billie had left inside you the night before, slowly sliding down your underwear just as she had asked.

The door to the meeting room opened, and Billie walked in. She looked impeccable. She wore a new black suit, her hair was perfectly styled, and she had her usual expression of cool indifference.

She walked to the opposite side of the table and sat directly across from you.

The marketing director started talking about the campaign, but you didn't hear a word. You glanced at Billie. She looked up from her notes and fixed you with those blue eyes.

you wouldn’t usually do these events. but the extra credit your school assigned was worth it, you were super close to 100 anyway.

you were asked to photograph for the schools music night. mainly for the orchestra portion of it but also for some others. you didn’t really care for it but it was something nonetheless.

the night dragged on with soloists, dancers, and poets. none really caught your eye.

the food was mediocre, too. you’d think the sponsors would help bring better things than cold pizza. and a hardened cheese cast, ew.

once concert band started, the loudness sends shrieking waves through your eardrums. as a attempt of relief you head backstage to calm down and arrange yourself.

it’s usual darkness meets you as you walk in. it didn’t really matter to you because there was still some light.

shuffle shuffle.

what was that.

you freeze instantly hearing the noise, you see a figure throwing on a hoodie and jeans over what seemed to be a skintight suit.

is that spiderwoman???

why are my thoughts SO loud

should i walk away

this seems illegal

WHY aren’t my legs moving.

the figure slowly pulls off her mask, revealing herself to the void of the room.

billie?

the girl from 3rd period chemistry, you guys never really talked but when partnered up you guys held well for your names.

you had some lingering feelings for her. but it was something you pushed deep down to the bottom of your stomach in fear of rejection.

she was probably the only person who never pushed when you were quiet, or did she give attitude when you weren’t ready to talk.

your heart was pounding against your chest like a swat team. you wanted to run, hide, forget this ever happened to she wouldn’t know that you know what she doesn’t want anyone to know.

after pins and needles attacked your legs for what almost felt like forever, you finally tried to walk away.

until your eyes were hit with a beam of light like you met God himself.

billie had hit the lights on to find her instrument, making both you and her visible to each other.

when she turned to look at you she almost jumped, you could see the fear washing over her face and she could see the fear in yours.

“how long have you been there?” she asks you, trying to chuckle it off.

you choke up a “long enough.” when you felt your body was basically frozen.

“i’m sorry i’m sorry i came back here to get a break from the noise—“ you start to ramble but billie slowly gets closer trying not to startle you.

“hey, hey it’s okay. it’s not your fault.” she says, trying to assure herself more than you.

you look at her in distress, it was shocking how she was able to stay more calm then you when her identity was now exposed.

but it was you, and even though she didn’t know you that well; it calmed her a little.

“okay so.. i have to go and perform in like 2 minutes.” she starts. “can this just be our little secret?”

“yeah— of course.” you finally mutter to say, it wasn’t like you had anyone to tell anyway.

“okay, thank you.. so much.” she says to you before picking up her instrument and joining the orchestra.

you realize you have to take photos for her event, so after what feels like forever, you move your legs and walk away.

as the orchestra starts you slowly take your photos. it meant a lot to you that you got the photos nice and detailed, perfectly angled.

you look until you find billie, playing effortlessly with grace. you zoom in to take a quick picture of her as well.

she notices you in the crowd and gives you a slight smile. it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

after the concert, you submitted the photos to the schools newspaper. alongside your awarded community service hours you felt achieved.

looking through your camera roll, it felt almost uncanny; seeing your photos of billie alongside photos you’ve taken of spiderwoman in action makes sense.

they were around the same height, same black hair with red roots, similar style. when she lifts her mask halfway they share the same soft lips—

you jump from your thoughts. weirdo.

you now knew of the information everyone died for. swearing secrecy of the knowledge that spiderwomans name is billie parker.

𝓈ℯ𝓅𝒾𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸 － all rights reserved, do not copy, plagiarize, paraphrase, translate or feed to ai.

ᝰ.ᐟ ever since you found out you were pregnant, juju has been hovering over you, not to be annoying, but yeah, it’s a little annoying.

“you need anything?”

“are you sure you’re good?”

“are you positive?”

every five minutes like clockwork.

ᝰ.ᐟ she talks to the baby when she thinks you’re asleep. when you catch her, she gets shy and embarrassed but continues to do it.

ᝰ.ᐟ if she wasn’t already protective enough, she’s even more protective now that you’re pregnant.

ᝰ.ᐟ she loves when you wear her clothes she doesn’t care about them getting stretched out from your bump.

ᝰ.ᐟ when she’s not busy, she comes to every single doctor’s appointment.

ᝰ.ᐟ she loves kissing and touching your bump it’s one of her favorite things to do.

ᝰ.ᐟ every time she sees a cute outfit or pair of shoes for the baby, she has to buy them.

ᝰ.ᐟ when you can’t sleep, she stays up with you. It doesn’t matter if she has something important in the morning.

ᝰ.ᐟ whenever you have a craving, she goes and gets whatever it is that you’re craving. It doesn’t matter what time it is.

ᝰ.ᐟ she always keeps snacks on hand in her car, her pockets, in your nightstand. the second you mention being hungry, she’s pulling something out.

ᝰ.ᐟ she refuses to let you lift things she doesn’t care if it’s something light she won’t let you.

“ju it’s not that heavy”

”you’re carrying our baby you don’t need to be lifting things”

ᝰ.ᐟ she loves feeling the baby kick.

it’s been almost five months since you and juju broke up, but no one in her family seems to accept that it’s been over.

you and juju’s breakup was super unexpected to everyone. you guys were like a match made in heaven. everyone around you knew you loved each other deeply.

juju wasn’t a bad partner, she just was never there for you. not physically, she was always there, but emotionally she’d shut down when things got hard. whenever you needed reassurance, she could never give it. she’d just get quiet.

when you’d ask her about it, she’d try to change the subject. the more you tried reaching for her, the more she pulled away, so you just decided to end things.

even after that, juju’s parents still love you and they still invite you places, whether it’s their house, a restaurant, or some type of gathering. you’re always invited.

sari still calls you every day to see if you’re doing okay. robert always looks forward to you coming by, and with her siblings, you talk to mali like you guys are best friends.

juju can’t stand it, and it doesn’t help that her parents and siblings adore you. she feels like it just makes everything awkward and weird.

tonight sari and robert are hosting a family dinner, and sari decided to invite you. and juju is trying to persuade her to uninvite you.

“mom, why did you invite her?” juju says.

“juju, it’s a family dinner. why are you so upset about it?” sari says as she’s setting the table.

“yeah mom, keyword family.”

“she is family, juju,” sari says sternly.

“no, she is not, mom. why are you inviting my ex to have dinner with us?”

robert walks into the kitchen. “what’s all the commotion about?” he asks.

“she’s upset about me inviting y/n,” sari says.

“it’s not that big of a deal, juju,” he says.

“that’s exactly what i told her. she keeps acting like it’s such a big deal though,” sari adds.

juju puts her hands on top of her head and lets out a sharp breath. “oh my gosh. why does no one see the issue here? why would you invite my ex? that’s so weird. it’s going to be awkward.”

she turns and walks upstairs, heading straight to her bedroom. she drops onto her bed, staring at the ceiling as if it’s going to give her an answer that makes any of this make sense.

for a moment, it almost works. her eyes start to get heavy, the tension finally loosening just a little.

then her mom’s voice cuts through from downstairs.

“juju, come open the door for your sister.”

she doesn’t move right away. just lies there for a few seconds, staring at nothing.

then she exhales, pushes herself up, and drags herself out of the room.

by the time she gets downstairs, she already feels drained in a way she can’t shake off.

she reaches the front door, unlocks it, and swings it open.

mali is standing there, purse in hand. she pauses for a second before stepping inside.

“you good?” she asks, closing the door behind her.

juju stands there with her arms crossed.

“no,” she says flatly.

mali raises a brow, already knowing what this is about.

“juju, it’s not that serious.”

“it is that serious,” she shoots back, voice tightening. “y’all keep acting like it’s normal.”

“you’re the one making it weird,” mali says casually, hanging her purse up on the hall tree before walking toward the kitchen.

juju follows her. “i’m making it weird?” she lets out a short laugh. “she’s my ex, and she’s coming to our house for dinner.”

mali shrugs. “you guys were dating for so long she’s practically part of the family now, juju. get used to it.”

that hits something sharp in her, and she doesn’t respond.

because that’s the part she hates the most.

they walk into the kitchen and juju takes a seat at the island, watching as mali greets their parents like nothing is wrong in the world.

“you guys are in—” mali starts, but she’s cut off by a knock at the door.

“she must be here,” sari says.

sari wipes her hands and walks out of the kitchen, heading to the door. she opens it.

and there you are.

“hi, mrs. watkins,” you say softly, hugging her.

“hi, honey. you look so beautiful today. come inside so we can get ready to eat.”

you step in and close the door behind you.

the house shifts immediately, like it always does when you’re there.

you walk into the kitchen. mali smiles and greets you, robert does too.

juju, on the other hand, avoids your eyes completely.

everyone eventually moves to the dining table while sari finishes bringing out the plates.

mali and robert are talking to you, asking how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, like time didn’t split anything in half.

sari sets down the last plate. everyone starts eating.

except juju.

she takes a few bites, then just starts picking at her food, eyes distant, jaw tight.

then mali, too casually, like she doesn’t feel the weight of what she’s about to say, speaks up.

“i hope you two figure it out. you guys were an amazing couple.”

sari and robert glance up.

the air changes.

you freeze.

juju freezes.

for a second, she just sits there, processing it, staring at the table like she can rearrange the moment if she looks hard enough.

then she exhales.

“why are you doing that?” she says, voice low.

mali blinks. “doing what?”

juju shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“being weird.”

“you know what?” she says suddenly, pushing her chair back. it scrapes loudly against the floor. “i’m not doing this.”

she stands, grabbing her phone from the table.

for a second, she pauses, like she wants to say something else but can’t find a version of it that won’t come out wrong.

then she looks up.

“and so everyone is aware, i’m done.”

she turns and walks out of the dining room.

no one stops her.

before anyone can say a word, the front door slams shut.

headcannon 1

this girl was like born to be a mom, when she first finds out, she’s so so so excited

✶ you’ve been doing ivf for a super duper long time, so when you tell her you decide to do it in a special way, you’ve been throwing hints around for a couple of days.

“so I’m gonna put this shirt on you, don’t open your eyes, okay?” nodding, your wife turns around, sitting on the bed so you’re actually able to get the shirt over her. 

smiling, it takes a couple of tries to get it on, but eventually, you do. you snap a quick picture of her next to the sonogram photos with her eyes closed. the calm before the chaos.

taking a deep breath, you give her the okay to open her eyes, your phone pointed at her as she does. “what?” she asks, smiling at you, completely oblivious. 

“what does the shirt say?”

looking down, she can’t really read it fully, so she faces the mirror, trying to make out the word.

realization hits her when she finally reads it, her face immediately lights up as she whips towards you, her eyes switching between yours and your belly. “stop, oh my god, you’re lying.”

shaking your head, you slowly walk over to her, smiling through pricks of tears threatening to spill. “no, it’s real,”

opening her arms, she lets you fall into her, shock covering her face mixed with pure excitement. “shut up. we’re gonna be moms,”

“we are,”

✶ mutually, you decide to wait a few weeks before telling family and friends, wanting to make sure the baby’s healthy and there’s no risk of anything. this is honestly harder for lo than you; the girl is fucking giddy over you and your belly

headcannon 2

during the pregnancy, lauren does absolutely everything for you. like im talking getting up in the middle of the night to get whatever you’re craving

✶ she’s like super protective over you as well, i feel, like if anyone tries to touch your belly, she’s immeditely pushing them off

✶ she does all the research for the baby and you, like she’s up all night looking up what’s good for you and not. she banned coffee in the house, buying tea and stuff for you to try as an alternative. 

✶ i feel like she would take a million thousand pictures of you during this period, like her instagram story is just filled with your belly or you and her smiling with the belly on vacation somewhere. 

✶ adding onto that, she takes you on like a million babymoons up until you can’t travel anymore, claiming the nice weather is good for you, but she really just wants to soak up your last few months alone together

headcannon 3

when you actually have the baby, she’s super duper supportive through the entire thing

✶ lauren has like all the bags packed and ready when you announce that you think you’re in labor

✶ from the minute you get to the hospital, she’s at your side, holding your hand and helping you through the entire process

✶ i feel like the process is equally as emotional for her as it is for you, like the girl is crying through the entire thing with you, but especially when the baby comes out

✶ okay, so obvi you have a girl. she would definitely be such a girl mom, and you don’t find out the sex during the pregnancy, so the baby actually coming out is when she first finds out

✶ while the doctors are doing whatever they do with the baby, she would be so comforting. like she would be right there asking what you need and everything

✶ honestly, yes, she’s super excited about the baby, but she’s more concerned for you in the moment

✶ as soon as the doctors leave, she would definitely crawl in your small bed, putting her arms around you and cuddling into you. obviously, she would be whispering little things like how good you did and how proud of you she is, pressing small kisses to your forehead

headcannon 4

you decide not to bring the baby to any of her games for a while, but when you do, she’s so excited to show her daughter off

✶ you would get there early with your daughter in a little dress with lo’s number on it and maybe a bow in her hair, and find your seat before anyone else get’s there. Obviously, you’re courtside, so when your wife jogs onto the court to warm-up her face immeditely lights up and she runs straight to you instead of her teammates.

picking your daughter up, she pulls her into her arms. “hi baby!” she coos, smiling at the infant, before turning to you. “and hi, my other baby,” leaning down, she presses a kiss to your lips, smiling into it.

“we came early,”

“you did,” she nods, her focus on the baby in her arms.

✶ the rest of the game, she’s obviously looking over at you and her daughter the entire time, waving and smiling everytime she comes close. honestly, she barely even has time to be mad over another player pushing her because she looks over and her daughter’s laughing

✶ after the game, she pulls you and the baby onto the court with her, both of you at her side while she does a post-game interview

headcannon 5

she takes parenting very seriously

✶ like she wakes up at like 4 am to put presents out for your daughter or put eggs out in the yard, pretending to be an easter bunny

✶ lo’s definitely the loudest one at all of your kids’ sports games. like she’s always either in the stands cheering or on the court actually being their coach

✶ she loves dressing your babies up, she thinks it’s the cutest thing when they’re all dressed up in dresses or whatever

You already knew minutes ago what the outcome of the game is, but when the final buzzer goes off, the entire UCLA section goes insane around you. Hugging Michelle, Lo's mom, you try to wipe the tears running down her face before you attempt to make out with your girlfriend on the court.

You can barely even look for her before you feel a strong hand sliding around your waist, turning you around. Immediately, your face lights up at the sight of your girlfriend. Carelessly, you throw your arms around her as she picks you up, squeezing you tightly, her sweaty body sticking to you, but you honestly can't help but not care.

"You were so fucking amazing, Lo," You whisper into her ear, peppering her face with kisses before she pulls you away just enough to press your lips together softly.

Surrounding you, people try to talk to her, but she simply ignores them, listening to every last little comment and replay you give her on the game, nodding and smiling, giggling at certain parts, and squeezing you at others until she's forced back down to the court for pictures and such.

When families are allowed on the court with the players, you gladly follow Michelle, the two of you holding hands and quietly conversing the whole way there. Of course, you congratulate Lauren's teammates before finding her again.

"Sister-in-law!" Sienna exclaims, throwing her arms around you. Both the sisters are fucking tall, so the height difference is insane around them, like you feel so short. "You came!"

"Did you think I wasn't?" Sassily, you throw an eyebrow up, smiling before hugging her back. "I had to see my favorite player." Pretending to ignore your girlfriend's expectant giddiness, you point at her sister, nodding before you crack a smile at your girlfriend. Your favorite player.

Cheesing, you take about a million pictures with your girlfriend and the Betts', your cheeks honestly hurting by the time you're escorted off the court and into a side room to wait for Lo.

She comes out of the locker room after about 30 minutes of waiting, her hair damp from the shower, and with a fresh pair of jeans on and a tight tank top.

Non-sweaty now, you're much more inclined to open your arms for a hug.

Deciding to skip the bus, you decide to walk to the afterparty, her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders to keep you warm as you debrief on the game.

"Oh my gosh, Lo, and there was this really stupid guy sitting next to your mom and I who would like to yell every time you got a basket and make fun of you. I was so freaking mad, like every time he opened his mouth,"

She just chuckles at your story, looking down and nodding as you walk together. "Hater's gonna hate,"

Pretending to be disgusted, you jostled her gently with your side. "Ew, you're weird,"

Smiling, she looks down to the side at you, and fuck, you melt. "Hey, you have to be nice to me tonight, I just won a natty."

Raising your eyebrow, you give her a pointed look. "But I'm still your girlfriend, I have rights to make fun of you,"

Shaking her head, she laughs. "Whatever,"

The club is, obviously, packed when you arrive, teammates everywhere, most of them already drunk, and all you can see is a sea of UCLA jerseys filling the giant room.

God, it's gonna be a long night.

Normally, you and Lo go to bed relatively early, so for the pair of you, it's gonna be longer than normal, but you're celebrating her, so you'll do it.

The night is spent with her hands all over you, on the small of your back, wrapped around your waist, gripping your hand. Just everywhere. She watches as you dance with Sienna, making eye contact every couple of seconds in a way that lets her know you're doing it for her. And you are. So you do.

Eventually, you pull her into the dance group you got going, grinding up against her in a way that you know drives her insane, teasing her beyond belief until she's pulling you away and back to a table the team has reserved.

She orders a couple of drinks for the two of you, both of you wanting to keep it light despite the partying.

Lounging now, you lean into her, your back pressing against her chest as you quietly converse, occasionally joining in someone else's conversation.

"Guess what I brought," She says quietly into your ear, her breath ghosting your neck before she pulls away.

Whipping your head around, you know exactly what she brought. "Oh yeah? The glittery one?" You smirk.

She snorts at this comment, but nods. "Yep, baby, there's gonna be glitter all up in your belly tonight,"

The bottom hem of her shirt was held in her mouth. She knew you loved her abs, especially the shine that they had after a rough practice.

The navy shirt fell out of her mouth after seeing the imprint of her in your tummy, the tip reaching just below your bellybutton.

“Fuck, baby. Look at how well you’re takin’ me.” She hooked your legs together, holding you by your ankles, and putting both legs on her left shoulder.

“Tryna put a baby in you.” She said, rubbing her hand up and down your thighs, kissing your ankle, eliciting a moan from you.

Lauren bites her lip with a smile, thrusting harder.

“Too big, mama? Be a big girl, c’mon.”

You shake your head,

“Mhm, not too big.” You say through a whine, reaching out to touch her. “Take it off, Lo, please.”

She gently moved your legs off her shoulder to hug her hips instead, and reached for the bottom of her shirt. Lauren’s Nike bra hugged her in a way you would if you weren’t being absolutely ruined by her.

“Not too big?” She responded.

“Why you so fucked out then, baby?” She asked, her voice soft, light, despite the position you two were in. Her large hand cupped your face. “Or do you just like when I’m splittin’ you open?”

She only earned a whine.

Your long nails lightly scratched along her toned stomach, causing her to get chills.

The ache was different this time.

“Fuck, Lau- I think I’m gonna s-“ You say, cut off by your own moan.

Lauren reached beside you, where the hat lay, and put it back on. She held her hands on her head, allowing for her hips to ruthlessly thrust into you. The sight nearly sending you over the edge.

“Lo, don’t stop.”

“Lookin’ so good for me, pretty. Takin’ it so well, fuck.” She moved a hand to your clit. You were dripping now, and Lauren’s rapid hand and hip movements caused more of a mess than there already was. “Squirt all over me baby, fuck.”

Her mouth was open, chuckling. Her whole hand moved fast and careless. She wanted you to be a mess. You were a mess.

“God, look at you.”

You reach for her wrist, her fingers still moving lightly. Lauren gave a few more good thrusts. She folded at her hips, and her damp forehead met your neck.

“We’re gonna have to change these sheets, lovey.” She commented. You hid your face in your hands to stop Lauren from speaking on the blush creeping up your face.

“Fuck, that’s so embarrassing, oh my God.”

“I’ll wash them if I got next, deal?” She asked while holding out her pinky.